Chapter 9 – And Sometimes When You're On
Dean watched as Sam typed out a quick text message to Dave one-handed, Ruby's knife still gripped in his right. Argent had been a font of information, and with any luck Dave would be able to find something about this Nemeton in the pile of Bobby's books that he had insisted on bringing with him.
Dean had been surprised when Dave had so readily agreed to stay behind at the motel, only putting up a token protest. Maybe the kid finally realised what he was getting into, and that a few weeks of target practice made him no match for a seasoned demon. Still, Dean had a feeling that there was something more going on. Dave struck him as a brash kid who would normally place himself right in the middle of the action, fighting skills or not, and something wasn't right about his recalcitrant attitude to this mission. Once they were back on the road, he would have to get to the bottom of it.
Because apparently, Dean realised with a sinking stomach, the kid was part of the team now. Over the last few days he had spent enough time with him to develop a definite protective streak, and he now knew why Bobby had gotten himself so involved in Dave's life. There was something about the kid that screamed trouble, and maybe that was why Dean felt such a kinship with him. Just as Dean could never give up the hunt, he was certain that this kid would be drawn back to the supernatural no matter how much it hurt him.
In fact, he was pretty sure that Dave had already been drawn back once. Dean was no doctor, but Dave's Jason Bourne story didn't sit right with him. Surely amnesia like that just doesn't exist outside of fiction and monsters, and if the kid had managed to get involved with this world not once but twice, then Dean was certain that turning him away now wouldn't stop him at all. At least Dave wasn't trying to find out what had happened to him before his memory loss. Whatever had happened to him – ghosts, demons, goddamn fairies – in Dean's experience, it was a memory best left buried.
There was a loud crack and Dean bit back a curse as he was jolted back to the present. He raised his foot from the stick he had just snapped in two, and noticed Bobby cocking an eyebrow at him. Oops. Apparently he had been caught up in his own thoughts on the job, never a good sign.
Giving himself a shake, Dean turned his attention back to the path they were taking through the woods. They'd been walking for a good half hour now, and there was still no sign of the Nemeton. Argent had said it was difficult to find, but with any luck the demons would lead them right to it.
Any plan that involved attracting enough demons to find their actual target was a bad one, in Dean's opinion, but then again it probably wasn't the worst one he'd ever gone along with. Hell, at least they actually had a plan, rather than a wing and a prayer.
Cas stiffened beside him and Dean immediately halted in response, gripping his angel blade tightly, senses heightened as adrenaline flooded his veins. He was peripherally aware that Sam had stopped in sync with him, Argent and Bobby following suit, and he moved his attention to the woods surrounding them. There was movement beyond the tree line, and he could hear a soft whisper of leaves rustling as faint shadows darted just beyond view. Glancing at the others, he indicated what he had heard, and saw four nods of understanding as everyone readied their weapons and instinctively moved back-to-back, covering all sides.
For almost thirty seconds, there was nothing. Cas was on Dean's right, Sam on his left, and he could hear their harsh breaths punctuating the silence as they shifted slightly, preparing themselves. Beyond that, a faint breeze stirred the treetops, before fading away. A breath, and the world seemed to still.
The moment was broken by a shout, and suddenly there were figures appearing amongst the trees, men and women and, god help him, even a couple of kids. Dean counted ten, and felt his heart freeze. Ten on his side, who knew how many in total. Gritting his teeth, he tightened his grip on his blade, snarling at them.
"Come on!" Dean roared, voice laced with fury.
There was a pause, an infinitesimal second dragged out to eternity, and then they were racing toward him, a sea of black eyes and twisted faces.
Bobby smashed the butt of his shotgun into the face of the man rushing him, before swinging it around and firing two shots into the head of a gaunt woman wrestling with Sam. Her neck snapped backward as flesh burst from her head, and Bobby didn't stop to watch her fall before turning back to the man at his feet and squeezing off a third shot between his eyes at point-blank range.
Skull exploded at his feet and Bobby didn't hesitate, noticing two more demons racing toward him. He swapped out his shotgun for a long knife embedded with salt, and readied himself for the onslaught. Swinging wide, he cut deep into the throat of the demon on his left and ducked to avoid a fist from the man on his right.
From his crouched position, Bobby thrust forward with the knife, feeling it slice cleanly into the man's abdomen, and jerked it upward before pulling back. The man screamed as the wound gaped open, intestines sliding forward and thick red blood pouring on to the ground, and Bobby took advantage of his distraction to reload his shotgun and fire a round directly into his head.
The man collapsed to the ground, but Bobby was already on the move. A demon was angling for Dean, and Bobby swung the butt of his shotgun into his head and shouted a warning. The man stumbled sideways, but Bobby lost track of him as a movement in his peripheral vision caught his eye.
Spinning, Bobby flinched as he narrowly avoided a hit from a demon who had crept up on his flank. The man was tall but fast, and his jaw was tight with fury as he corrected from his punch.
Grabbing his knife, Bobby noticed the man's muscles bunching for a leap and tried to dodge to the side. He wasn't fast enough, though, and the man crashed into him, sending both of them to the ground.
His back hit the dirt with a burst of pain, and Bobby felt the air rush out of his lungs as the demon landed on top of him. Gritting his teeth, he pushed the pain out of his mind, focussing instead on his right hand. Bobby tightened his grip on his knife and thrust his arm upward, burying the tip into the soft flesh under the man's jaw.
The man yelled and blood soaked into Bobby's sleeve, but it was no good – the demon held on stubbornly, raising his hand to Bobby's wrist and squeezing with a painfully tight grip. Bobby's shoulder screamed in pain as his arm was twisted unnaturally, and he blinked tears out of his eyes to see the knife withdrawing from the man's face, the wound knitting itself before his eyes.
From his position, Bobby couldn't see his knife, but agony burned in his arm as the demon continued to manipulate it, forcing his hand around so that the knife was angled toward Bobby's abdomen. Eyes widening with fear, Bobby realised what was going to happen, and he twisted furiously as his arm closed in on his belly. It was only inches away when the weight suddenly vanished, Bobby's eyes flicked upward in surprised.
Castiel was standing over them with a snarl, one hand gripping the demon's shoulder tightly. In one swift move, he pulled back, tearing the man away from Bobby and throwing him mercilessly onto the ground.
Cas' expression was fierce as he knelt beside the man, reaching out a hand to bathe the his head in a golden light. A tortured scream rang out, and then suddenly cut off as the light faded, and Bobby's limbs flooded with relief.
Taking a deep breath, Bobby forced himself back onto his feet. "Thanks Cas," he started, but the angel didn't hear him, already disappearing back into the fray to rip two demons away from Argent as the hunter grappled with a third.
Realising he had a moment to breathe, Bobby surveyed the clearing. Surrounding him was a battlefield; blood soaked the leaves on the ground, and dead and mutilated bodies scattered throughout the field. Even so, it was clear the hunters were losing. The grass was crawling with demons, they were outnumbered three to one, and even with Cas on their side they were outgunned.
A noise distracted him, and Bobby glanced over his shoulder to see Abaddon emerging from the tree line, smirking at the scene before her. She had her eyes on Dean and Bobby felt a stab of fear, before he steeled himself firmly. They'd beaten worse odds before, they could pull another miracle out of their asses if they had to.
"Dean, watch out!" Bobby shouted in warning, before raising his shotgun and starting toward Abaddon. Her green eyes flicked toward him and he pulled the trigger, but the sound of the shot was obscured by a deafening roar.
Startled, Bobby spun on his heel and angled his shotgun outward, toward the sound. He made out a glimpse of movement through the trees, and that was his only warning before a half dozen figures darted out into the field, and suddenly everything devolved into utter chaos.
There were three demons wrestling with a giant of a man, and Scott couldn't help but be impressed as he watched from beyond the tree line. The man – all four of the strangers, for that matter – was putting up a hell of a fight, and Scott wondered if Argent had been wrong about their humanity. At the very least, the man in the trench coat was definitely something else, apparently able to destroy demons with just the touch of a hand. It made him nervous, but at the same time more determined to help them. If they were allies with one non-human, then maybe they would be able to accept that a werewolf pack could exist without causing harm.
Liam shifted nervously beside him, and Scott eyed him. "It's okay if you want to go back," Scott said gently. Out of everyone, Scott felt most guilty about Liam. He had been through hell and back since he was first bitten, and Scott knew that he had suffered nightmares after the Beserkers. Now, he looked positively terrified as he watched this disaster unfold before them, and Scott couldn't blame him if he was having second thoughts.
The point was moot, though, as Liam shook his head and set his jaw. "No, I'm helping," he said, voice threaded with determination.
"None of us are helping right now," Malia pointed out, gritting her teeth. Scott knew she was itching to go out there and fight, but he hesitated. If he was wrong about these people, he could get them all killed.
Scott looked to Lydia, who seemed to understand his conflict. She grimaced before sidling closer to him and speaking in a whisper. "I know we're only here as backup, but I think it's time. They've been putting up a good fight, but the demons keep coming and they're starting to tire. Don't forget Argent's out there, too, Scott. I think it's worth the risk."
Scott held her gaze for a moment, but she didn't waver. Alright then.
Focussing, Scott felt his features shift as his fangs dropped down and claws appeared, and noticed that Malia and Liam were following his cue. Beside him, Kira had her sword in hand, ready to go. "Let's do this," he said thickly.
Scott roared, and as one the pack surged into the clearing. Scott led the way, focussing on a demon furiously attacking the big guy. His legs drew up, and in one smooth movement Scott leaped through the air, latching onto the demon as his feet hit the ground and using his momentum to rip him away from the hunter. The man flew to his right and Scott didn't stop to watch him hit the ground, instead darting to his left where a woman was bearing down on Argent with relentless blows.
Growling, Scott dug his claws into her sides, pulling backwards. Argent took advantage of the increased room to lash forward and bury a knife drenched in salt into her chest, and the woman threw her head back and screamed.
Scott shifted his weight, ready to throw her aside, but a an iron-strong arm suddenly wrapped itself around his neck as another snaked around his upper arms, and instead he found himself stumbling backwards and lost his grip on her altogether.
He was being held against a hard chest, and Scott realised with surprise that he could barely move against the arms binding him. He struggled, but they didn't give an inch. Instead, the arm around his neck tightened even more, crushing his windpipe with a bruising force.
Scott's eyes widened and he gagged, heart pounding against his chest. He felt the beginnings of panic stir within him as his throat burned and he gasped for breath, and he was so caught up with fighting for air that the almost didn't notice the cool hand creeping up to rest against his jawline.
There was something familiar about the stance – a buried memory from some action movie he had once watched with Stiles at two in the morning – and suddenly Scott knew exactly what the man was about to do.
The man's arm bunched and as his hand tightened on Scott's jaw, preparing to twist, Scott gritted his teeth. With a grunt, Scott channelled his energy into his left arm and thrust it backwards as hard as he could. There was a shout from behind him and pain exploded in Scott's elbow, but for a second the arm around his neck loosened just a fraction.
It was all Scott needed. Twisting, he caught sight of the man's thigh behind him and pushed, burying his claws into soft flesh. He flexed his fingers, slicing upwards, and tore the leg open in a clean line from knee to groin, setting his jaw as the man cried out in his ear. For a moment, he paused, resting his hands above the man's pulse point, then there was a slight give as his claws buried deeper. A sickening tearing sound reached his ears and dark red blood spurted from the wound, soaking Scott's arm within seconds.
The arms holding him vanished as the man screamed, falling to the ground and desperately pushing on his gushing wound. Scott heaved a deep breath, feeling slightly dizzy, and managed to tear his eyes away from the gruesome sight.
The clearing was a flurry of motion; a mess of gunshots, claws and shouts. Still, Scott realised with a jolt of surprise, the tide was definitely turning. The hunters seemed to have regained their footing, fighting in a well-practiced dance and watching each other's backs. The pack was a sea of writhing energy; kicks, punches, growls and snarls, and for every hit they received they returned threefold.
As Scott watched, something in the demons seemed to break. Some of them scattered in a desperate run, others continued to fight with movements that were increasingly frantic, all their taunts and confidence forgotten. He released a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding, and a motion to his right drew his attention. Turning, Scott spotted the red-headed demon from earlier, who had been hanging back at the edge of the clearing throughout the entire battle.
She wasn't alone, Scott realised with a rush of adrenaline. One of the hunters was held before her, pressed up against a tree as she pushed her way into his personal space. Her hands were flexing on his chest and her lips were curled in a snarl, clearly taunting him. Scott couldn't see the hunter's face, but his limbs were twisting uselessly as he fought to escape.
Scott snarled and picked his way through the fight, aiming for the pair. No one else seemed to have noticed and Scott felt his heart rate pick up when he lost sight of them for a moment, but before he had a chance to panic he found himself on the edge of the field and the demon and the hunter were before him.
"I always did like this meatsuit," the demon hissed, red lips curving as she trailed a hand down the hunter's chest. "I think I'll take it after all."
The hunter's face twisted in disgust, but the demon's expression was pure ecstasy as she tilted back her head and closed her eyes, a tendril of black smoke escaping from her parted lips.
Scott took a shaky breath, steeling himself. Then, not letting himself think, he bunched his legs and pounced, slamming into the demon and sending both of them crashing to the ground.
Scott didn't pause, slashing and tearing at any of the demon's flesh he could find. The scent of blood was heavy in the air, and he pushed down against the nausea and the voice raging at the back of his mind, instead lashing out with his claws again, and again, and again.
It was a matter of seconds before Scott suddenly found himself flying backwards, slamming into a tree with a force that knocked the breath out of him. His head snapped backwards into the trunk, and his vision swam as a splitting headache erupted.
Scott's head lolled and he groaned as his mind throbbed, his feet slowly coming into focus. When he realised what he was seeing, Scott felt a thread of panic thrum through him. Somehow, he was suspended against the tree, feet a good few inches from the ground. His arms were pressed into bark, and when he tried to crane his neck for a view of what was going on, his found he could only move his head a few inches to the side.
The demon appeared directly before him, snarling ferociously. Her face was carved with jagged wounds, and any doubts that Scott might have had about her demonic nature vanished at the hideous sight. "You thought you could defeat me, wolf?" she said softly.
She bared teeth at him, hissing. "You are an animal," she spat, "and you should be trembling before me."
She raised a hand, fingers crooked as though gripping a ball. Scott watched, eyes wide with confusion, and then she twisted her wrist decisively and suddenly Scott's world exploded with pain.
Scott screamed, neck arching backward as he writhed against the tree. There was a stabbing pain in his chest, tracking down his limbs until every part of him was on fire, and holy shit Scott had never known agony like this before.
His throat burned as he ran out of air, and Scott let his head drop, panting. From this angle, he could see his chest, and he fought against a wave of nausea at the sight. Four deep gashes were gaping open on his torso, revealing muscle and sinew beneath. Rivers of blood – dark, so dark it was almost black – were pouring down his front, drenching his jeans and forming a pool in the leaves at his feet. Dark spots danced across Scott's vision, and the world started spinning.
Soft fingers traced patterns on his jaw, and Scott looked up to see the demon standing inches before him, head tilted with curiosity as her mouth curved into a wicked smile. "That's better," she whispered.
Scott couldn't answer her, too distracted by the agony in his chest, struggling to control his breathing and steady his vision. He looked past the demon, and felt his heart still at the sight.
The hunter from before was on his feet, creeping toward them. The man side-stepped around the woman, and with one swift movement raised a revolver and pressed the cold barrel under her chin.
"This is for our grandfather, bitch," he said. Then he squeezed the trigger.
A deafening crack exploded throughout the clearing and the woman collapsed. The invisible binds holding Scott to the tree vanished and he fell, stumbling as his feet slipped in the blood-soaked ground, and reached one arm behind him to brace himself on the trunk.
"What was that?" Scott managed, eyes flicking between the hunter and the demon. She wasn't dead, clearly – he could still hear her heartbeat pounding frantically at his feet.
The hunter glanced at him before responding. "There's a devil's trap on the bullet. She's not dead, but she's not smoking out of that meatsuit any time soon, either."
With that, the hunter reached into his jacket and pulled out an honest-to-god machete. Feeling slightly sick, Scott took a half-step backward before catching himself. "Wait!" he protested, but before he could react the hunter was moving, arm swinging in a decisive arc.
Scott could hear every tear and every crack as the machete sliced through the woman's neck in a burst of blood, burying itself in the ground as her flesh split clean in two.
Scott's stomach roiled, and acid burned in his throat. Swallowing once, twice, he heaved several deep breaths until his stomach finally settled.
When he came back to himself, Scott realised that the air was heavy with an unnatural silence. He tore his eyes away from the desecrated body before him to check on his friends.
Somehow, during the chaos, the remaining demons had fled. Isaac was sitting on the ground, panting heavily and staring at Scott in shock even as he held a makeshift bandage to a deep gauge on Kira's arm. Kira otherwise seemed okay, managing a small twitch of the lips as she caught Scott's eye. Beside her, Malia stood tall, covered in blood and mud and god knows what else, eyes shining blue as the bloodlust slowly dwindled.
On the other side of the clearing, the hunters were still on their feet, albeit covered in cuts and bruises. The tall man in particular seemed to have the beginning of a black eye, and the older man was nursing a swollen and bloody nose, but none of them seemed bothered by it at all. Liam stood near them, blood soaking his hands as several wounds on his arms slowly knitted together.
Off to the side, Scott took note of Parrish, covered in soot and resting a gentle hand on Lydia's shoulder. She was trembling slightly, blood slowly leaking from several shallow cuts and bruises but apparently otherwise miraculously unhurt.
They were all okay.
The thought resonated in Scott's head, and his legs wobbled as he was flooded with relief. They were all alive. Somehow, they had made it through this one.
He felt the corners of his mouth start to pull up in a small smile, and turned to introduce himself to the hunter standing next to him. The sight before him made him freeze, and the words died on his lips.
Scott was staring down the barrel of a gun, held steadily in the hands of the hunter and pointed directly between Scott's eyes.
"Now," the hunter said, "What the hell are you?"